This brief profession of faith, on the subject that had been so recently broached in the council, seemed to give infinite satisfaction.  All present evidently preferred being red men, who knew where they were, than to be pale-faces who had lost their road.  Ignorance of his path is a species of disgrace to an American savage, and not a man there would have confessed that his particular division of the great human family was in that dilemma.  The idea that the Yankees were “lost,” and had got materially astray, was very grateful to most who heard it; and Bough of the Oak gained a considerable reputation as an orator, in consequence of the lucky hits made on this occasion.

Another long, ruminating pause, and much passing of the pipe of peace succeeded.  It was near half an hour after the last speaker had resumed his seat, ere Peter stood erect.  In that long interval expectation had time to increase, and curiosity to augment itself.  Nothing but a very great event could cause this pondering, this deliberation, and this unwillingness to begin.  When, however, the time did come for the mysterious chief to speak, the man of many scalps to open his mouth, profound was the attention that prevailed among all present.  Even after he had arisen, the orator stood silently looking around him, as if the throes of his thoughts had to be a little suppressed before he could trust his tongue to give them utterance.

“What is the earth?” commenced Peter, in a deep, guttural tone of voice, which the death-like stillness rendered audible even to the outermost boundaries of the circle of admiring and curious countenances.  “It is one plain adjoining another; river after river; lake after lake; prairie touching prairie; and pleasant woods, that seem to have no limits, all given to men to dwell in.  It would seem that the Great Spirit parcelled out this rich possession into hunting-grounds for all.  He colored men differently.  His dearest children he painted red, which is his own color.  Them that he loved less he colored less, and they had red only in spots.  Them he loved least he dipped in a dark dye, and left them black.  These are the colors of men.  If there are more, I have not seen them.  Some say there are.  I shall think so, too, when I see them.

“Brothers, this talk about lost tribes is a foolish talk.  We are not lost.  We know where we are, and we know where the Yankees have come to seek us.  My brother has well spoken.  If any are lost, it is the Yankees.  The Yankees are Jews; they are lost.  The time is near when they will be found, and when they will again turn their eyes toward the rising sun.  They have looked so long toward the setting sun, that they cannot see clearly.  It is not good to look too long at the same object.  The Yankees have looked at our hunting-grounds, until their eyes are dim.  They see the hunting-grounds, but they do not see all the warriors that are in them.  In time, they will learn to count them.